Crossing Boundaries
by lenceilin
Summary: The Sheriff visits Gisbourne in his bedroom.


**Crossing Boundaries**

**Disclaimer: **Robin Hood belongs to the BBC. Don't own it and not making any money from this.

Thank you to The Blue Raven for the wonderful beta job!

**Set during Series 3**

It was all just a terrible mistake.

He'd been preparing for this for so long. The corridors, shimmering with darkness, provided a trail that he followed, alone for once.

Until he caught himself staggering.

He caught himself. As he had, so many times. Refusing to relinquish control over his own body for even a second - or...

... he wasn't sure. And the years spent carefully draining his dangerous curiosity to an acceptable level - _acceptable to whom? - _held firm.

The man held himself in a strange position. Neither peasant nor king, breadwinner nor beggar, hero nor... villain?

Hero. Definitely. That wonderful feeling he got when he put on the face and told some imbecile how much this was upsetting him and how he actually couldn't believe he was doing this, and then, then taking more than the guy even had like he was doing him a favour - that hot, golden grey feeling he got in his stomach. A feeling as enjoyable as that must come from doing something good. Acting the hero.

Mustn't it?

So why didn't he dare to sleep?

Of course he dared to sleep. He _did. _He'd taken a potion for insomnia because it was just that, a medical condition.

It was just that he couldn't -

- _ouch!_

The Sheriff caught himself yet again as he stumbled into the wall, eyes snapping open. His head somehow came to rest against the stone. The grainy smell of the rock bit into him and cold seeped into his forehead in the same way he was sure, blood was now soaking through the knee of his robe.

_I will have this castle demolished. One day._

_And then I'll have a bigger one._

His knee hurt.

_With softer walls..._

_If anyone saw that, I'll kill them._

He really needed to sleep.

A thought slithered into his mind, unwanted and unbidden.

_If Gisbourne saw me like this, I'd never forgive -_

_Him?_

_Myself?_

_But I wouldn't mind him knowing __**why**__..._

A shifting picture of the tall man in black.

_He's always here._

_I can't get rid of him... and who's to say that I want to?_

_If he knew what you were thinking right now, he'd -_

_Or not. He must see something he likes in me. Else, why would he have stayed so long?_

_Hmm? I would know you better, Guy._

His thoughts were twisting away.

The Sheriff turned and dragged himself along the wall to his bed-chamber, feeling his way and the rough rock under his palms. He didn't mean to drain every last drop of the potion and fall asleep. Not really. But he certainly didn't mean to be awoken by a screaming nightmare and claw to his servant's room.

It was all just a terrible mistake.

------------

It was difficult to sleep in the strange bed. And more than a little jarring, as Gisbourne knew that quite possibly, it cost more than a peasant would earn in a decade. Probably a lifetime, now.

So. Things as they should be.

He was just distracting himself. He could rarely sleep back at Locksley Manor - at _home. _Locksley, soon to be renamed Gisbourne, was home now. But - it was so difficult to sleep there, too.

When the Sheriff crashed through the door, black rings under hollow eyes and looking smaller and worse than Guy had seen him in a long time, he took comfort from it. In his own way.

_At least it's not only me._

_I just wish it wasn't __**him**__..._

'Would you miss me, Gisbourne?' he asked suddenly, uncharacteristically woebegone. 'If I died?'

'You are the Sheriff,' Guy said evasively. Because he didn't have a clue how to reply to that question. He knew that he would not be getting any sleep tonight. 'You're the Sheriff; and it would be mine - and the people's - duty to mourn you.'

'I'm not talking about the people.' The Sheriff stepped closer and unexpectedly grabbed the post of the other man's bed. Purely to keep himself upright, it seemed. He looked like a goblin. Eyes shadowed, pupils dilated, the man seemed haunted.

'You know I'm not, Gisbourne...' he continued, voice shaking a little. 'Would _you _miss me?'

'I can't pretend your death wouldn't benefit me,' Guy replied coolly.

The Sheriff's knuckles whitened. 'Oh,' he said slowly. 'So it's come to this?'

Gisbourne swore mentally. One more word, it would take, one more word and he could be dragged down to the dungeon to eat the rats.

_Guards!_

Shit. Had he crossed the boundary?

He started quickly, unwillingly. 'No, I didn't mean - '

' - I know you didn't.' The Sheriff seemed only too pleased to reply. 'We've settled you wouldn't miss me.'

Guy hoped his look conveyed the loathing creeping through him.

'Would you, perhaps, think of me? Who do you think about at night, Gisbourne? Hmm?'

He just wasn't letting go! He must be on something. Some drug or wine or both he took in desperation, and it hadn't worked.

_So he's using me as a distraction._

_Why me?_

He was still there, eyes wide and staring. He also expected a reply, it was clear.

'I'm not saying I wouldn't miss you,' Gisbourne clarified. 'It's not my place to say what I think,' he added stiffly.

'But you hope it will be one day?'

'That's your place.'

'Exactly.'

_What __**is **__he trying to prove here?_

'Do you think it's selfish to miss people when they die?' the Sheriff mused. 'Oh, granted, they like to think they'll be too happy or whatever in some la-la dreamland, all the people we - ' He caught himself. 'We look after. But you and I both know, Gisbourne, that we'll be turning the spits of Hades forevermore. I know that. I've accepted it. And do you know why?'

Guy sniffed. The older man grimaced in frustration.

'Because that's the trouble with foreign travel!' he growled. 'Heaven or the Holy Land - and contrary to popular belief, they are _not _the same thing - ' Gisbourne met his sidelong glance.

'You run into the same people you meet at home!' the Sheriff concluded gleefully. 'Why on Earth, Gisbourne, would I want to put up with the same land of filthy rabble I've had to put up with for one lifetime already?'

Guy regarded him. This time, he did not bother to add 'I didn't mean' or something equally untrue to his next statement. If he was going to hell, it might as well be for killing a king as for a sheriff.

'It might seem to an outsider you're in the wrong job. Sir.'

'You don't enjoy dealing with dirty beggars either,' the Sheriff retorted.

'I am willing,' Gisbourne said abruptly, 'to do whatever I have to do, to - '

'To what?'

'You know I have ambitions that I will achieve.'

'I know you're ambitious,' the Sheriff told him. 'Not so sure about the achieving bit. Look deep, Gisbourne. Do you really think you could manage my job, hmm, because that's what you want, isn't it?'

The younger man spoke steadily.

'I don't suppose I'll ever know that. Will I, _sir?'_

The Sheriff didn't rise to it.

'Something's changed about you, Gisbourne.'

He deliberated, speaking slowly and calmly. Guy eyed him.

'You've got harder,' the other man decided. 'As if - well, it's like you've finally realised that you do not get _anywhere _in this world without sending a few outlaws to hell in a handcart, or crushing a few peasants' huts for your garrisons, or maybe even disposing of a woman who can twist you round her little finger but was really laughing behind your back - all along... ? Oh, dear,' the Sheriff added innocently. 'Touched a nerve?'

Guy swallowed.

'Do you still think of her at night, Gisbourne?'

'Wouldn't you like to know,' he said bitterly.

The older man shrugged. He looked much better, _and I know why, _Guy thought. _When he's well, someone else is generally feeling very much worse._

'I would indeed.'

'I don't sleep at night!'

It burst out of the young man. One second he had been grimly considering the mind game he seemed to be losing, and the next - shit. His own fatigue broke down the shields protecting his anger. The Sheriff was fascinated, he could see it.

_I have no choice but to go on._

'When I do,' he continued awkwardly, 'It's courtesy of the fine wines and the like you so kindly bestow on me... sir. When I don't, it's because I can't. Literally can't. Night terrors. I remember things.' He was breathing heavily, panting even. He really hoped that loathing was in his eyes.

'Satisfied?'

'Snapped a nerve, I think,' the Sheriff said, gazing at him with the kind of concern a crocodile might show before it decided to put you out of your misery. Gisbourne could not tell if he was still out of it, or not. That frightened him.

It also shoved him a little further to the edge of his anger.

'Poor, poor Gisbourne. Snapped your nerves, like the lovely lady Marian did... ' Guy clenched his fists. 'Before you - '

Guy of Gisbourne punched the Sheriff of Nottingham in the face.

Hard. His taut knuckles rebounded from the other man's nose as he staggered backwards, a snail-trail of blood already beginning to trickle. Strangely, he had made no move to protect himself. Maybe he simply wasn't used to having no protection from the guards and had genuinely not seen it coming.

Or maybe he just didn't see Gisbourne as a threat.

_He bloody well should do!_

_I need someone whom I can control. Who isn't as unpredictable and downright unnerving as him._

_What am I thinking?_

He moved backwards like he'd been struck by an arrow.

_Oh sh... that's done it. _

_Dungeons, here I come._

He wanted to scream and kick and punch, make his last few moments of freedom truly unforgettable. They stared at each other, the Sheriff's expression unreadable. If there was fear, it had gone now. He didn't look sad, or shocked, or hurt. Maybe he really was cold-blooded. Guy's nose ached suddenly, and this not from a punch. He recognised the feeling, and the dampness starting to prick his eyes, and the image he associated with it. Always.

_My Marian..._

_Crying?_

He had cried that night. She hadn't. At least, not in his presence. Stubborn and beautiful until the end, even with her dress slashed open and her wonderful -

No. _No! _He would not think of that!

He would not cry in front of the Sheriff. He'd prefer a spell in the dungeons to the implications of that.

Guy had been concentrating so hard on not letting the tears escape that he hadn't noticed the older man had moved. Only as his vision cleared, he realised with a harsh sniff that the Sheriff had slipped from his position by the bedpost to stand beside him.

His aura of menace had all but dissipated. He just looked like a tired old man, shadows under his eyes and nostrils caked in congealing blood.

_I __**still **__can't take my eyes off him for a second. _

_Even when he must be strung out on something. He would never do this in the daylight..._

_... would he?_

Then he jumped, and with a strangled curse, wrenched his hand away from the slight, cold fingers that had grasped his.

The Sheriff's robes brushed against his hip as they jerked apart, ending up staring into each other's eyes from either side of the bed. Like lovers. One of whom had crossed the line. The older man's eyes full of reproach and a fair amount of fury. But at whom was it directed at? The younger man, upset already and now shocked, confused, horrified, even -

- or himself?

His hand felt unclean. He had a sudden and violent urge to stab this man and wash it clean in his blood. One more punch might do it!

_No! _What the hell was he thinking? God, if the Sheriff could read his mind, he'd be lucky to be alive.

_Was _he lucky to be alive?

A tear ran down his cheek unchecked. He only felt it when its cool saltiness reached his mouth... how he managed to keep the scream of fury and revulsion down, he'd never know.

Gisbourne couldn't think. He threw himself blindly towards the door, the peace of sleep seeming further away than it had ever been.

_Why did he touch me?_

_What have I done? What does he think I've done?_

He felt like he was choking on fear.

_He's cold._

_He is evil._

_Almost as evil as me. Myself. You. __**Me. **_

_He never killed the woman he loved..._

He waited for the choking to kill him. Now. Please.

It didn't. It wouldn't.

_He never... as far as I know._

_Oh, God._

He became conscious of the new material he had just created to feed the nightmares.

_At least, tonight, we'll scream in terror together._

_I cannot get away from him. From her. From Hell itself..._

_I cannot hide._

_Then I will have to... _

_Join them, or run._

_Or, maybe, replace him._

He straightened up. One hand on the doorframe, he glanced back at the Sheriff. The man was supporting himself now with fingers spread over the bedclothes, as if he wanted to command the very essence of the man last in that bed.

_I am never sleeping there again._

_If - when I replace the Sheriff of Nottingham, I won't have to._

Something tugged at his lips, and it was a good few seconds before he realised that it was a grin, struggling to get out.

He released it. _He doesn't have to know __**everything**__. _

'Oh, by the way,' he said quietly, each word like a sliver of meat hacked from some animal. 'If you have any more nightmares... don't wake up.'

The Sheriff drew a breath. To tell him that he knew exactly what was going on?

Unlikely. In future - starting with now - Gisbourne would report back to himself. He had never hated the Sheriff so much as he had at that moment.

His hand twitched.

'Ah.' Gisbourne corrected himself. 'That's what I meant. Don't wake _me _up.'

FINIS

Thanks for reading! Reviews, anyone? *puppydog eyes*


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